from dungeons drenched in strenuous sweat of fell,
men toiling and men toiled on for their soul’s
sake. Lest they’re condemned to another hell.
They pour through vicious fences of camps. Flow
incessantly from mouths or what once were,
from camphored corridors of wards aglow
with pain. From shapeless bulks that barely stir.
Brought forth by shame, by longing and despair
reverberate in all things whether glum
or bright; In atoms, oceans, lives, and dreams
engulfing all in waves that chill the air
until at last the whole world has become
The wreckage littered bed of river screams.